


the frontier of the skin

by traveller



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-11-21
Updated: 2004-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-15 16:38:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/traveller/pseuds/traveller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><cite>How much of what they say is true? Where do the stories end and the man begin?</cite></p>
            </blockquote>





	the frontier of the skin

The air is heavy with incense and spice, thick with smoke from the guttering lamps, the damped fireplace. James breathes in the nearer scent, the rarer scent. Sex and sweat and sea salt, there on the line of Jack's jaw. His lips scrape stubble when he speaks.

               - How much of what they say is true? Where do the stories end and the man begin?

Jack takes James' hand, puts it in the middle of his chest, and James' fingers splay and curl, trying to hold the heat beneath the skin.

               - Right here. The man begins right here.

               - That's not what I meant.

               - Say what you mean, then, mate. Haven't got all day. Night, as the case may be.

James shifts away, but his fingers refuse to follow. He presses the heel of his hand, hard, in the centre of Jack's chest, feels the heavy tattoo beating there.

               - I don't know anything about you.

Jack smiles, a flash of gold in the dimness.

               - More interesting that way, innit?

               - Interesting for _you_ , maybe.

               - What can I say, love? My entertainment is a paramount concern.

Tumbling into this affair put him in mind of the first and only time he'd ever gone overboard; as a midshipman, as a boy, really, on his first assignation and scared shitless. He remembers slipping as the ship leaned, the deck suddenly no longer beneath his feet, that moment that was both an eternity and an instant. Then the fall, then the air rushing from his lungs when he collided with the water, and he remembers thinking, hoping for a brief panicked moment that if the water was solid enough to hurt then it might just hold him up. And then, of course, he went under.

James settles again into Jack's side, rests his hand again on Jack's breast. Jack indulges this affection that comes naturally to neither, Jack keeps his mockery to a minimum in these moments, rare as they are. On the other side of the shutters all remains darkness.

               - If I ask you... Will you answer honestly?

               - I will answer or not answer, but I promise honesty, how's that, then?

James' nod puts his face into the curve of Jack's shoulder. Steady on, then.

               - How did you become...

               - A pirate?

               - Yes.

               - No, no, I don't think I'll be answering that one.

Their breaths are loud in the small room. James circles Jack's nipple with his thumb.

               - How. Who taught you to read and write?

               - A man.

               - Why did you go to sea?

               - A woman.

James pulls away, pushes himself upright, and Jack shakes his head, purses his lips.

               - Ain't I cooperating? Ain't I answering, as agreed?

               - I'd sooner deal with the devil. And will be, won't I? For this...

James spreads his hands helplessly. He can no longer keep account of the sins he's committed for this, for _this_ , for this.

               - What is it you want to know, then?

Jack's eyes are dark and angry, a November sea at midnight.

               - I want the truth. I want the reason, I want...

               - Coin for the ferryman?

               - Perhaps.

In the shadows it is still possible to see the worst of Jack's scars, to see the faint sheen of sweat on his collarbones, both absurdly beautiful. James reaches out, to touch? to hold? to know? to understand? Jack slaps his hand away; the sharp weight of a ring catching the thin skin over James' knuckles.

In the shadows it is still possible to see red drops pit-pattering on the white sheet.

               - What do you want me to say?

Jack's voice is weary and unguarded. James looks away. This is not what he wanted.

               - Why did _you_ go to sea?

               - I'm the third son. My other options were priest or clerk.

               - Which is to say, no other options at all, eh?

               - In a sense.

               - There's your answer then. No other options.

When, if, he looks up, James knows he'll see the tight flex of Jack's jaw, the narrow cat-glower of Jack's eyes. He is surprised feel the brush of wind-chapped lips against the corner of his mouth.

               - I...

               - Here you are, then.

Jack presses a handkerchief to the back of James's hand, holds it firmly there before tying it in a careful snug knot. James catches Jack's fingers.

               - Will you ever answer me?

Jack smiles.

               - Will you ever stop asking?

The breeze through the shutters is warming, dawn is coming, edging the light with a pale blue. Jack turns his hand in James's grasp; there is a brief struggle for control of the lines on James' palm before James surrenders, allowing his hand to be placed again in the middle of Jack's chest. The scars are silk-smooth under his fingertips. James takes a breath, and repeats his question.

               - Where do the stories end?

Jack nods.

               - Right here. Right here.


End file.
